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2013-01-03 A Moment of Compassion
It's a clear day, the weather brisk and cold with a breeze that gusts through the cement canyons every once in awhile, reminding all that travel on foot that it is, indeed, winter in the Big Apple. While the local school children are back in school, those visiting the City with their parents, relatives and such are still out in force, more than making up for the native crowds. The large iced-over 'pond' being a particular favourite on such a day as today, with the Christmas tree at one end still giving its holiday cheer. (Though that'll be coming down soon.) There are more than a few who sit out on the edges, sitting on park benches, huddled up against the cold, but still stubbornly remaining in the weather to watch.. whether it's 'people watching' or keeping an eye on family and friends, steadfastly ignoring attempts to bring them up and onto the ice. One such sitting there, dressed for the weather with fedora, a scarf wrapped about his neck, and a winter coat is Kurt Wagner. He's alone on his bench.. either due to radiating a 'I'd like to be left alone' aura, as other NYC natives have perfected, or perhaps because everyone who has sat next to him has realized at a glance that perhaps Kurt is a little.. different. 'Blue' might be a give-away. (At least the tail is tucked in.) Yellow eyes watch the skaters, his expression.. sad, should any really be able to read such a countenance on someone that looks every inch a blue demon. When all else fails in life, it might just take another demon to break through the proverbial ice upon the soul. One of the pedestrians visiting the park today is a woman of many faces, many shapes, and many ..everything, yet not so big on compassion. She's been upon this planet for more years than most, she's learned to identify her own kind. Singling out the lone individual is made all the more simple with the crowd as a whole keeping their distance from the individual that's blue beyond merely the physical. That he sits alone is fine with Mystique. It will offer them some privacy. Let the others focus on the skating and post-holiday cheer. She has a son to watch over. That she's taken the persona of a teenaged British rebel might really mess with a few minds if they realized what the real age difference is. Bright pink hair has been spiked up in a pixie cut, coupled with gunmetal grey lip gloss and eye shadow. The anarchy look is played up with a healthy amount of black leather, combat boots and, just for kicks, a spiked collar. People have gone out of their way to leave her a comfortable space cushion all day, well before she takes a seat beside the man in the fedora. "Bastard cold out here, isn't it," she comments while dropping down onto the bench, rubbing her hands together. Rings and bracelets are in such abundance that one might wonder if they were multiplying themselves upon the ends of those limbs. One child slips and falls on the ice, setting off an entire chain reaction before those watching, creating a hazard that other skaters must maneuver around. That, however, seems to be proving a little more difficult as yet one, two more couples, lovers really, take their spills, laughing in the winter's air. Normally, that would at least push a hint of a smile onto the face of a compassionate blue elf, but.. there's no response. The figure that comes and plops herself onto the bench beside him is given a glance, at the very least. Appearances have ceased to surprise him; having met a red demon earlier. (Who carries a rosary- maybe Kurt's not all that strange!) Though not surprised, he does take her in with that look before setting yellow eyes before him again. "Ja.. though it is always like this, after the new year. At least it is not raining." His tones are soft, the words dragged out of him.. and there's that undercurrent that he's more than happy to let the pleasantries die there. There's a tiny grin on the punk girl's face from the resulting pile of bodies upon the ice, though it never quite reaches her eyes. She isn't bad luck, though bad things do have a habit of occurring around her. It's alright, she doesn't need to be pleasant about things. "'Ey. Even the freaks should have someone to chill with, Blue." Yep, she noticed. Of course, she knows a whole lot more about you than your coloration. "Why should all the simple folk get all the fun and joy, yah? Just because you choose to isolate yourself don't mean you're alone. So what's eatin' ya? Can't be the cold, plenty o' better places to sulk than outside in the ol' wind tunnel." Kurt's facing the skaters, but there really isn't anything they're doing that truly registers. It's more a .. stare into the middle distance, without movement dragging his focus in. His cheek twitches at the term 'freak', though any response to the word is swallowed back, physically. "We do not 'choose' to be along, fraulein." His words are low, dragged from him. Looking beside him, he takes in the 'girl' that is seated beside him, "You have chosen to shock people with your look, controlling reactions around you," he begins. "You have the power, und the decision whether to be alone or not." He looks back at the crowds, and shakes his head, "You would not understand." Mystique could press the matter further, but she's not here to win an argument. It's not the first time the matter's come up. It won't be the last. Instead the punk releases a gentle sigh, leaning forward with elbows propping themselves upon her knees. A moment of silence is allowed to pass over the two before she tries again, from a completely different direction. "I'm sorry if I put ya through more than you were prepared ta handle, before." It might sound weird, spoken with the same faux accent, but the words do hold a note of sincerity. "Every time I see ya, you're under so much stress. I only want what's best for ya. Knowing how ta do that, can be a right difficult call ta make at times." Kurt sits for a moment, staring into the distance again, and it takes those heartbeats before the words truly begin to sink into that brain of his. He looks over again at the 'girl' seated beside him and.. stares, studying her, trying to see if there's anything he can see. No luck, but he does whisper, "Mystique?" He blinks, knowing the answer before it could be confirmed or denied. "I am not suited for war," he murmurs. "I cannot continue to see my friends die.. but more, every time I believe that I have seen the worst in people, I am surprised once again." And here she had been prepared to let her own yellow eyes shine through beyond the disguise, confirming her identity. Turns out that she doesn't have to. The next smile to edge across her painted features is genuine, reaching out to take your closest hand within her own. It might not seem like it, but Mystique does understand. A common problem faces their kind, one that offers everyone involved many directions that they might choose to take. Families and friends alike end up divided over these causes, then for some lucky few they also have to worry about something many take for granted. Merely fitting in. She does miss her children. She still longs to have them at her side, fighting for the cause which she most believes in. She's still a mother, though. Only so much pushing can be considered before it wears down on the very sanity of her kids. Here sits the proof, a torn mutant in need of something which she so rarely provides. It's almost enough to make her wish that she had spent more time trying to be that mother figure rather than what everyone else considers to be a terrorist. "People do what they feel they must. Sometimes it's good. Other times, less so. It's not possible to save everyone. All we can do is find where our priorities lie, try to help those closest to us." "Sick men, women und children were attacked," Kurt murmurs. "Killed. Taken as hostage. All from a hospital.." He shakes his head and looks out, "Und at that moment when I heard, watched the horror after it was done, I.. felt such.." Sadness? Disappointment? Hatred. "There is nothing that would warrant that. No one //must// do something like that. As for my friend's death, it is something we all know will happen. One day." It's assured, and he exhales in a sigh. "I do not think I can be forgiven for such thoughts, however. For the first time since I can remember, I cannot will myself into walking into the confessional." Suddenly it doesn't seem like holding your hand is going to be enough. You don't try to push her away, which is a good sign to her. When you pause in search of the right words Mystique shifts her posture, instead bringing an arm around your shoulders, simply to hold you close. Give you a different shoulder to lean on, if you felt any such need. "Who were these people?" she automatically asks, thinking of ways in which she might make them pay for the anguish they are putting her son through. Wicked or not, that protective instinct has never once escaped this metamorph. That's not why she's here today, either. Finding someone else to swear revenge upon can wait, for a little while longer. "There's a difference between thinking of something and acting upon it. The mind is a virtual playground, it's in our nature to consider things from many different angles. Regardless of what you may have thought, your actions have always remained pure. You aren't the one in need of a confession." Tears have been shed in the dark of the room, watching the video. Tears have been shed at the lighting of the candles as he's prayed for the dead, and for his own soul. There's a moment when Kurt tenses at the arm that wraps about him, and he lowers his head, shaking it. "I don't know who.." He has the programs running for facial recognition, but at this moment? No clue. Kurt looks to the side and leans a little; this woman claiming to be 'mother' while never being so. Now, in adulthood, he's finding that he's missed such a large part of life. But... Straightening, the blue elf nods almost imperceptibly, the muscles playing a better indication of motion rather than actually seeing the dipping of his hat. "Impure in thought leads to action," he reminds. "We look for forgiveness in thought as well." And his thoughts have been dark. He takes a deep breath and offers a weak, sad smile. "Because unless you are certain of your thoughts, your actions become.. suspect." It's difficult for Mystique to hide the darkness from her own eyes. These people, whomever they are, have done something unforgiveable. People call her a monster, but she knows who the real monsters are. For what these individuals have placed you through, they all deserve to die. If there is any information she can gather on them, she will do so. Someone is going to pay for this. "Is it wrong to wish justice for the loss of your friend? To see these people fall for their crimes?" This would probably be a lot easier for her if there wasn't that religious barrier to try and work around. "It's another test, dear. So far nothing has shaken your faith so much which you have not recovered. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for." Of course you are, you're of her blood. "Hate these men or pray for them, they will all get what they deserve in the end." An end which will arrive sooner than they expect, if she has any say in it. "It is right that one wishes justice," Kurt begins and he makes to say more, opening his mouth before he closes it again. What he wanted was vengeance. Born of pain and hate. And he's ashamed. When he does speak, his voice turns to that whisper, "A test.." A nod comes and a deep, shuddered breath is taken as yellow eyes turn towards the spires of St. Patrick's. "I should pray for them." Mystique falls silent for a moment, herself. A time to hold you close, lost in her own thoughts. Whether her advice is what you needed to hear or not is impossible to say, all she can do is try and hope for the best. It seems to do the trick, but it doesn't make the heartache go away. The one thought which lingers above all else remains hers alone, a thought to be shared with none other. Yes. You should. "I ..know that we've had our differences in the past," she starts in, careful with her choice of wording. This is still a fragile situation, she could push you further away without meaning to. It's the last thing she wishes to do. "But, I want you to know that I'm still here for you. If there's anything which I can do for you..." She would never get you to ask for her help in killing these people. That's fine. She's just hoping that you won't ask her to leave them alone. Oddly enough, the advice, the words do help. This was the kind of conversation that he could only hold with someone who had .. differing approaches on the matter than he. That's why Kurt was going to go to Logan originally. A man who understands the more base emotions that come from such things. But, to speak to Mystique.. in this role, how odd that he felt that he could speak to her.. a woman that had abandoned him so many, many years ago. "You have helped," and Kurt turns to look at her fully; while the blue fuzzy face still holds it's sadness, there's something different in those yellow eyes. Something of confidence and understanding. "Danke schoen.." Making to rise, Kurt's not privvy to her own thoughts of discovering the wrong-doers, and adding a little 'justice' of her own. No, but he offers, "Would you like to come with me? To the church, I mean." Moments like this one happen so very infrequently in Mystique's life. Emotion that isn't focused upon anger or hatred. Thoughts that aren't revolving around lies and manipulation. The few relationships which she has tried to retain are troubled, to say the least. They have been since the very beginning. Perhaps it really does take someone as pure as you to be able to forgive her for her past. For throwing you away in order to save herself. Times have changed. She's changed. Yet, the past can never be. The next smile is as genuine as they come. There's a softness in those shifted eyes that might happen on an average of once per year. To those two words of thanks, she leans forward and gently kisses your forehead. "Let's go." Together. This is a moment to enjoy while it lasts. Category:Logs Category:RPLogs